¥5*3X1, 


THE  PORTRAIT 


A  POEM 


DELIVERED    BEFORE    THE 


WASHINGTON   BENEVOLENT    SOCIETY, 


OF  NEWBURY^ORT, 


ON  THE  EVENING  OF  OCTOBER  27, 1812. 


BY  JOHN  ,PIERPONT,  ESQ. 


BOSTON : 

PUBLISHED  BY  BRADFORD  AND  READ. 

T.  B.  Wait  <&  Co.  Printers. 

1812. 


DISTRICT  CLERK'S  OFFICE. 


DISTRICT  OF  MASSACHUSETTS,  TO  WIT: 

BE  it  remembered,  That  on  the  ninth  day  of  November,  A.  D.  1812,  and  in  the  thirty-seventh 
year  of  the  (ndependence  of  the  United  States  of  America,  Bradford  ami  Read  of  the  said  dis- 
trict, have  deposited  in  this  office  the  title  of  a  book,  the  right  whereof  they  claim  as  proprie- 
tors, in  the  words  following!  to  wit: 

«'  The  Portrait.  A  Poem  delivered  before  the  Washington  Benevolent  Society,  of  Newbury- 
port,  on  the  evening  of  October  27,  1812  By  John  Pierpont,  Esq." 

In  conformity  to  the  Act  of  the  Congress  of  the  United  States,  intitled,  u  An  Act  for  the  en- 
couragement of  learning,  by  securing  the  copies  of  Maps,  Charts,  and  Books,  to  the  Authors  and 
Proprietors  of  such  copies,  during  the  times  therein  mentioned  ;"  and  also,  to  an  act,  intitled 
*  An  act  supplementary  to  an  act,  intitled,  an  act  for  the  encouragement  of  learning,  by  se- 
curing the  copies  of  Maps,  Charts,  and  Books,  to  the  authors  and  proprietors  of  such  copies 
during  the  times  therein  mentioned ;  and  extending  the  benefits  thereof  to  the  Arts  of  De- 
tiguinf ,  Engraving,  and  Etching  Historical,  and  other  Prints." 

WILLIAM  S.  SHAW, 
Clerk  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


THE  PORTRAIT. 

"Wn  Y  does  the  eye,  with  greater  pleasure,  rest 
On  the  proud  oak,  in  vernal  honours  drest, 
When  sultry  gales,  that  to  his  arms  repair, 
Are  cool'd  and  freshen'd,  while  they  linger  there ; 
Than  when  his  fading  robes  are  sear'd,  and  cast 
On  the  cold  mercy  of  November's  blast  ? — 
Why  on  the  rose,  when  first  her  bosom  spreads, 
To  drink  the  dew  that  summer's  evening  sheds, 
Or  when  she  blushes,  on  her  native  thorn, 
To  meet  the  kisses  of  the  smiling  morn ; 
Than  when  her  leaves,  neglected,  fall  around, 
Flit  on  the  breeze,  or  wither  on  the  ground  ? — 
Why  on  Apollo,  when  his  coursers  rise, 
And  breathe  on  man  the  ardour  of  the  skies ; 
Than  when  they  stoop,  their  fervid  limbs  to  rest, 
And  drink  the  cooling  waters  of  the  west  ? — 
And  why  on  man,  when  buoyant  hope  beats  high, 
Health  on  his  cheek,  and  lustre  in  his  eye, 

Ml 79659 


4  4  '  THE  PORTRAIT. 

In  ev'ry  limb  when  youth  and  vigour  dwell, 
Brace  ev'ry  nerve,  and  ev'ry  muscle  swell; 
Than  when  his  frame  displays  the  ruthless  rage 
Of  care,  and  sorrow,  and  despair,  and  age  ? — 
Why,  but  because  the  Author  of  the  mind, 
Enthron'd  in  glory,  and  in  light  enshrin'd, 
When  first  he  beam'd,  upon  the  breathing  clay, 
The  light  divine  of  intellectual  day, — 
Perfect  himself, — infus'd  that  spark  of  fire, 
That  still  pursues  its  nature  to  aspire, 
And  warms  the  bosom  with  a  gen'rous  glow, 
Whene'er  it  meets  perfection  here  below, 
But  sinks  within  us,  with  expiring  ray, 
When  doom'd  to  dwell  on  emblems  of  decay  ? — 

And  if  the  mind  can  thus,  delighted,  scan 
A  tree, — a  flower, — the  orb  of  day, — a  man  ; 
How  must  it  swell,  when  from  the  womb  of  earth, 

It  sees  a  nation  "  bursting  into  birth," 

* 

And,  by  enchantment,  planting  on  her  strand, 
A  flag,  that  waving  o'er  the  sea  and  land, 
By  stripes  and  stars,  on  silken  folds  unfurl'd, 
Displays  her  strength  and  splendour  to  the  world ! — 
But  if  this  prospect  cheers  the  heart  of  man, 
Whether  he  dwells  in  England  or  Japan, 


THE  PORTRAIT. 

Whether  he  hears  the  billowy  Baltic  roar, 
Or  courts  the  breeze  on  Coromandel's  shore ; 
What  a  strong  current  of  delight  must  roll, 
Resistless,  o'er  the  vet'ran  soldier's  soul, 
Who  in  the  volume  of  that  nation's  fame, 
By  Clio  written,  reads  his  gen'ral's  name ! — 
And  if,  my  friends,  the  hardy  soldier's  pride 
Would  swell  his  breast,  with  such  a  gen'rous  tide, 
While  musing  on  his  country  ;  while  he  saw 
Th?  harmonious  couple,  Liberty  and  Law, 
Attend  his  person  wheresoe'er  he  rov'd, 
And  shield,  at  home,  the  family  he  lov'd, — 
That  wife, — who,  yielding  to  her  country's  call, 
Resign'd  her  husband,  and  in  him  her  all ; — 
That  child,  who  since  upon  his  knees  has  hung, 
And  learn'd  the  battle  from  his  father's  tongue ; 
And,  while  the  soldier  proudly  said,  "  My  son, 
That" — pointing  to  his  musket — "  that's  the  gun 
That  gave  you  freedom,  and  when  you're  a  man, 
Use  it  for  me,  when  I  no  longer  can  ;" — 
Would  weep  to  hear  his  sire's  prophetic  sigh, 
And  see  the  tear  that  trembled  in  his  eye ; — 
If  such  a  breast  would  swell  with  such  a  tide, 
If  such  a  heart  would  glow  with  such  a  pride, 


6  THE  PORTRAIT. 

If  such  an  eye  in  tears  of  joy  would  melt, 

What,  while  on  earth,  must  WASHINGTON  have  felt ! ! 

Thou  spotless  patriot !  thou  illustrious  man  ! 
Methinks,  while  yet  on  earth,  thy  heaven  began ; 
For  is  there  pleasure  purer,  more  refin'd, 
More  worthy  of  thine  own  etherial  mind, 
Than  thrill'd,  with  lively  transport,  through  thy  frame, 
And  play'd  around  thy  heart,  with  lambent  flame, 
To  see  Columbia,  guided  by  thy  hand, 
Plant,  in  the  bosom  of  thy  native  land ; 
That  tree  that  flourish'd  so  divinely  fair, 
And  took  such  root,  beneath  thy  fostering  care, 
As  soon,  o'er  half  a  continent,  to  spread 
Its  fragrant  leaves,  and  give  a  nation  shade ; — 
That  tree,  whose  root  descended  from  the  skies, 
That  grows  by  culture,  but  neglected  dies, 
That  tree,  beneath  whose  boughs  thy  spirit  fled, 
That  tree,  whose  fading  leaves  deplore  the  dead  ? — 
And  now,  great  father  of  thy  country,  say, 
Ere  angels  bore  thee  to  the  fields  of  day, 
Did  not  thine  eye,  with  holy  rapture,  view 
That  Tree  of *  Liberty r,  while  yet  it  grew 
Vig'rous  and  green  ? — And  did  it  not  impart, 
To  ev'ry  fibre  of  thy  godlike  heart, 


THE  PORTRAIT. 

A  joy,  while  waving  o'er  thy  mortal  brow, 
Next  to  the  amaranth,  that  shades  thee  now  ? — 

That  hero's  dead  ! — And  does  his  country  mourn, 
Embalm  his  ashes  in  a  golden  urn, 
And  in  a  sculptur'd  vault  the  reliques  lay, 
Where  iires,  like  Vesta's,  emulate  the  day 
With  light  divine,  as  thro'  its  silent  halls, 
The  holy  rays  reflect  from  porphyry  wails  ? — 
Do  temples,  arch'd  with  Parian  marble,  rise 
In  regal  pomp,  beneath  these  western  skies, 
And  on  their  front,  emblazon'd  by  the  sun, 
Give  to  the  world  the  name  of  WASHINGTON  ? — 
Breathes  he  in  marble,  in  her  senate  hall  ? 
Lives  he  in  bronze,  within  her  capitol  ? 
Does  the  imperial  mausoleum  show, 
In  proud  magnificence,  her  depth  of  wo  ? 
And  do  her  children,  with  a  holy  zeal, 
From  rough  St.  Lawrence  to  the  warm  Mobile, 
For  pilgrim's  staff,  their  friends,  their  home  resign, 
And,  like  the  Arab  to  Mohammed's  shrine, 
To  that  majestic  monument  repair, 
And,  for  their  country,  pour  a  pilgrim's  prayer  ? — 

Shame  on  that  country  !  everlasting  shame  ! 
She  bids  no  blazing  sunbeam  write  his  name : 


S  THE  PORTRAIT. 

His  sacred  ashes  consecrate  no  urn ; 

No  vault  is  sculptur'd ,  and  no  vestals  mourn ; 

No  marble  temple  meets  the  rising  day ; 

No  obelisk  reflects  the  evening  ray  ; 

Those  lips,  long  hush'd  in  death,  among  his  sons 

Nor  smile  in  marble,  nor  yet  breathe  in  bronze ; 

No  solemn  anthem  o'er  his  tomb  is  sung ; 

No  pray'r  is  breath'd  there,  from  a  pilgrim's  tongue  ! 

But  o'er  the  grave  where  Vernon's  hero  sleeps, 

The  tall  grass  sighs,  the  waving  willow  weeps ; 

And  while  the  pale  moon  trembles  thro'  the  trees, 

That  bend  and  rustle  to  the  nightly  breeze, 

The  bird  of  night, — the  only  mourner  there, — 

Pours  on  the  chilling  wind  her  solemn  air ; 

While  flows  Potomac  silently  along, 

And  listens  to  her  melancholy  song. — 

And  shall,  my  friends,  that  venerable  dust, 
That  once  enshrin'd  the  spirit  of  THE  JUST, 
Slumber  forgotten  ? — Shall  no  patriot's  tear, 
Warm  as  the  life-blood,  trickle  on  his  bier, 
And  sooth  his  mighty  shade,  that  hovers  nigh, 
To  catch  the  tear,  and  mingle  with  the  sigh, 
Thct  flows  for  him,  or  breaks  the  silence  dread, 
That  fills  th'  oblivious  mansion  of  the  dead  ? 


THE  PORTRAIT. 

Nay,— shall  the  freemen  whom  his  valour  sav'd, 
For  whom,  in  life,  a  thousand  deaths  he  brav'd, 
And  on  whose  sons,  in  rich  profusion,  pour'd 
The  joys  of  peace,  the  trophies  of  his  sword, 
In  the  black  robes  of  infamy  be  drest, 
Because  their  saviour's  bones  unhonour'd  rest ; — - 
And  yet  shall  we,  who  meet  with  kindred  minds, 
Whom  honour  animates,  and  friendship  binds ; — 
We,  through  whose  veins, — -as  warmly  as  the  blood 
That  warms  our  hearts, — rolls  a  congenial  flood 
Of  fearless  indignation,  that  belongs 
To  fed'ral  freemen,  under  fed'ral  wrongs; — 
Shall  ive,  on  whom  his  sacred  mantle  rests, 
Who  wear  the  badge1  of  union  on  our  breasts ; — 
Shall  we  neglect  the  few  pale  flowers  that  bloom, 
And  shed  their  fragrance  on  our  father's  tomb ; 
Braving,  while  rooted  there,  thy  tempest  rude, 

And  all  thy  wintry  frosts,  Ingratitude  ! 

Then  let  each  string  that  wakes,  within  my  soul, — 
Untaught  by  reason,  and  above  control — 
A  tone,  accordant  with  the  notes  sublime, 
That  trembling  float  upon  the  tide  of  time, 
Blown  from  the  trump  of  Fame,  to  bear  along 
The  warrior's  valour,  and  the  poet's  song, 

1  The  white  rose,  tied  with  a  blue  ribbon. 


I 
I 

19  THE  PORTRAIT. 

Cease  its  vibration  :^— let  oblivion,  then, 

That  first  of  federalists, — that  first  of  men, 

Hide  from  my  view  forever : — let  no  joy 

Beam  on  my  days : — let  blighting  blasts  destroy 

My  ev'ry  hope  : — here  let  me  live  accurst, 

The  best,  my  enemies ;  my  friends,  the  worst  :~ 

And  when  Death's  icy  touch  shall  hush  my  tongue, 

Be  no  grave  open'd,  and  no  requiem  sung ; 

But,  from  Earth's  consecrated  bosom  thrust, 

Let  asps  and  adders  riot  on  my  dust ! — 

Then  while  the  hours  pursue  their  viewless  flight, 
And  roll  along  the  sable  car  of  night, 
Let  us,  my  friends,  with  fond  remembrance,  gaze 
On  the  bright  orbs  that  gilded  other  days  ; 
Each  in  his  sphere,  revolving  round  the  sun, 
That,  gave  them  warmth  and  lustre, — Washington* 
But  while  we  see  them  in  their  orbits  roll, 
Bright  as  the  stars,  unshaken  as  the  pole, 
Pure  as  the  dew,  as  summer's  evening  mild, 
By  no  cloud  shaded,  by  no  lust  defil'd ; 
While  all  around  their  common  centre  sweep, 
Illume  the  earth,  or  blaze  along  the  deep, 
Who,  but  exclaims,  beneath  th'  o'erwhelming  light, 
"  Visions  of  Glory,  spare  my  aching  sight!  !"3 

2  Gray. 


THE  PORTRAIT.  11 

Thou  hoary  monarch  !  since  thy  tyrant  hand 
First  shook  o'er  earth  thy  sceptre  and  thy  sand, 
Or  wav'd  thy  sithe,  commission'd  to  destroy, 
O'er  Balbec's  columns,  or  the  spires  of  Troy, — 
Nay,  since  in  youth,  thou  bad'st  the  rosy  hours, 
Smile  upon  Adam,  under  Eden's  bowers, 
Hadst  thou  e'er  seen  a  clime,  more  blest  than  this, 
More  richly  fraught  with  beauty  and  with  bliss? 
E'er  seen  a  brighter  constellation  glow, 
With  all  that's  pure  and  dignified  below, 
Than  mov'd,  harmonious,  round  that  wond'rous  man, 
Whose  deeds  of  glory  with  his  life  began, 
Whose  name,  the  proudest  on  thy  proudest  page, 
Shall  fill  with  admiration  every  age ! 

77*672,  with  such  rays  as  gild  the  morning,  shone, 
In  peerless  pomp,  thy  genius,  HAMILTON  ! 
Sublime  as  heaven,  and  vig'rous  as  sublime, 
She,  in  her  flight,  outstripp'd  the  march  of  Time, 
Pluck'd  from  each  age,  the  product  of  each  soil, 
And  o'er  thy  country,  pour'd  the  gen'rous  spoil. 
By  thine  own  labours,  without  aid  from  France,3 
We  saw  the  splendid  fabric  of  finance, — 

3  Geneva,  the  native  country  of  Stgnor  A.  A.  Gallatini,  our 
present  Secretary  of  the  Treasury,  now  forms  a  part  of  the  French 
empire. 


12  THE  PORTRAIT. 

Within  whose  halls,  as  by  th'  enchantment  bold 
Of  fabled  Midas,  paper  turn'd  to  gold, — 
At  once,  the  boast,  and  wonder  of  mankind, 
Rise  to  the  magic  music  of  thy  mind. 
Thus,  when  Amphion  left  Cithcerorfs  shade, 
Beside  Ismenus*  wave  the  shepherd  stray 'd ; 
And  as  he  roam'd  in  solitude  along, 
And  charm'd  the  ear  of  Silence  with  a  song, 
Sweeping,  in  symphony,  his  tuneful  string, 
That  flung  its  wild  notes  on  the  Zephyr's  wing ; 
The  walls  of  Thebes  with  many  a  glitt'ring  spire> 
Rose  to  the  strong  enchantment  of  his  lyre. — 
Immortal  statesman !  while  the  stars  shall  burn, 
Or  to  the  pole  the  trembling  needle  turn, 
Ne'er  shall  the  tide  of  dark  oblivion  roll 
Over  that  "  strong  divinity  of  soul 
That  conquer'd  fate"4  and  travers'd  unconfin'd, 
The  various  fields  of  matter  and  of  mind, — 
Thy  heart,  to  charity  so  warmly  strung, 
And  all  the  sweet  persuasion  of  thy  tongue. 
Yet,  wast  thou  spotless  in  thy  exit  ? — Nay  :— 
Nor  spotless  is  the  monarch  of  the  day  :— 

4  "That  strong  divinity  of  soul 
That  conquers  Chance  and  Fate." 

Pleasures  of  Imagination, 


THE  PORTRAIT.  13 

Still,  but  one  cloud  shall  o'er  thy  fame  be  cast, 
And  that  shall  shade  no  action,  but  thy  last. 

Then,  with  a  milder,  though  congenial  ray,  * 
Like  Hesper,  shone  the  kindred  soul  of  JAY. 
His  hand,  unshaken  by  an  empire's  weight, 
His  eye,  undazzled  by  the  glare  of  state, 
Even  in  the  shadow  of  "  Power's  purple  robe,"5 
He  gave  our  land  the  charter  of  the  globe ; 
And  bade  our  eagle,  leave  her  native  pine, 
To  bathe  in  light,  beneath  the  sultry  line ; 
O'er  ev'ry  tide,  with  lightning's  speed  to  sweep, 
Cleave  ev'ry  cloud  that  whitens  o'er  the  deep, 
Tow'r  o'er  the  heads  of  conquerors  and  kings, 
And  soar  to  glory,  on  her  canvass  wings.- — 

Then,  where  Ohio  rolls  her  silver  flood, 
If  e'er  a  tomahawk  was  dy'd  in  blood ; — 
Or  if  the  war- whoop  broke  an  infant's  rest, 
Where  Erie  drinks  the  rivers  of  the  west, — 
Or  if  an  arrow,  from  an  unseen  bow, 
Thrown  by  a  savage,  laid  a  white-man  low ; — 
Or  if  a  captive  heard  the  hideous  yell, 
Or  felt  the  tortures  of  those  fiends  of  hell ; — 
On  his  pale  horse  the  king  of  terrors  sped, — 
The  fires  were  quench'd, — the  howling  savage  bled ; — 
5  Akenside. 


14  THE  PORTRAIT. 

The  grisly  monarch  feasted  on  the  slain, 

And  blest  the  courage,  and  the  sword  of  WAYNE. 

Then, — ere  by  Gallic  perfidy  beguil'd, 
"  The  other  Adams"6   was  again  a  child, — 
When  a  grim  monster,7  rose  with  many  a  head, 
More  foul  than  e'er  the  lake  of  Lerna  bred  ; — 
Whose  bloody  hands  no  sacred  tie  could  bind, 
Whose  lurid  eye  rolPd  ruin  on  mankind  ;~ 
And  frowning  dar'd  a  tribute  to  demand, 
Of  "  beaucoup  (Par gent"  from  a  PINCKNEY'S  hand  ; — 
Fire  in  his  eye,  and  thunder  on  his  tongue, 
Fierce  from  his  seat,  the  hoary  vet'ran  sprung, 
And  gave  the  hydra,  in  her  den  to  know, 
He  bought  no  friendship—for  he  fear'd  no  foe. 

Then,  nay  since  then,  while  yet  a  twilight  grey 
Gave  to  our  eyes  the  parting  beams  of  day,— 
For,  when  our  sun,  our  glory,  sunk  to  rest, 
He  fring'd  with  gold  the  curtains  of  the  west, 
And  pour'd  a  lustre  on  the  world  behind, 
That  faded,  as  the  mighty  orb  declin'd ; — 
Our  eagle,  soaring  with  unwearied  flight, 
Mid  clouds  t'enjoy  the  last,  faint  gleam  of  light, 

6  John  Randolph's  cutting  distinction  between  the  late  Presi- 
dent and  the  truly  republican  Samuel  Adams. 

7  The  French  Directory. 


THE  PORTRAIT.  15 

With  piercing  eye  glanc'd  o'er  the  wat'ry  waste, 
And  saw  her  flag  by  mussulmen  disgrac'd ; 
Nay- — heard  her  children,  on  Numidia's  plains, 
Sigh  for  their  homes,  and  clank  Abdallatis  chains : 
The  gen'rous  bird,  at  that  incensing  view, 
Caught  from  the  clouds  her  thunder  as  she  flew, 
With  deathful  shriek,  alarm'd  the  guilty  coast, 
And  lanch'd  the  bolt  on  CaramallVs  host : — 
Crescents  and  turbans  sunk  in  wild  dismay ; — 
The  Turkish  soul,  indignant,  left  its  clay, — 
Though  to  the  brave,  a  rich  reward  is  given, 
The  arms  of  Houris,  and  the  bowers  of  heaven — 
And  Eaton  trod  in  triumph  o'er  his  foe, 
Where  once  fought  Hannibal  and  Scipio. 

Then,  a  bright  spirit,  free  from  every  vice, 
As  was  the  rose  that  bloom'd  in  Paradise ; 
A  zeal,  as  warm,  to  see  bis  country  blest, 
As  liv'd  in  Cato^s  or  Ly  cur  gits'  breast ; 
A  fancy  chaste  and  vigorous  as  strung, 
To  holy  themes,  Isaiah's  hallow'd  tongue  ; 
And  strains  as  eloquent  as  Zion  heard, 
When,  on  his  golden  harp,  her  royal  bard 
Wak'd  to  a  glow  devotion's  dying  flames, 
Flow'd  from  the  lips,  and  warm'd  the  soul  of  AMES. 


16  THE  PORTRAIT. 

Like  Memnon's  harp,  that  breath'd  a  mournful  tone, 
When  on  its  strings  the  rays  of  evening  shone, 
That  stainless  spirit,  on  approaching  night, 
Was  touch'd  and  sadden'd  by  prophetic  light ; 
And  as  the  vision  to  his  view  was  giv'n, 
That  spirit  sunk,  and  sighing,  fled  to  heaven. 

Should  we  attempt  on  each  bright  name  to  dwell, 
The  evening  song  would  to  a  volume  swell : 
As  on  a  beach,  where  mighty  surges  roar, 
Wave  after  wave  rolls  onward  to  the  shore, 
So,  on  the  page  that  Hist'ry  gives  to  Fame, 
And  Fame  to  Glory,  name  succeeds  to  name. 
See  Franklin,  Adams?  Rutledge,  gliding  by  : — 
There  Henry,  Hillhouse,  Trumbull  meet  the  eye  : — 
Here  Ellsworth,  Marshall,  Tracy  rush  along, 
King?  Griswold,  Otis,  Pickering,  and  STRONG. 

Like  heavenly  dew,  that  evening's  hour  distils 
On  Sharon's  valleys,  or  Gilboa's  hills, 
Men,  such  as  these,  a  holy  influence  shed, — 
Their  deeds  while  living,  and  their  names  when  dead ; 
Men,  such  as  these,  could  guide  Bellona's  car, 
Or  smooth  to  smiles  the  iron  brow  of  war  : 
Men,  such  as  these,  could  brave  a  monarch's  frown, 
Could  pluck  the  diamonds  from  a  tyrant's  crown, 

s  Samuel  Adams.  9  Rufus — not  the  a  other"  King. 


THE  PORTRAIT.  17 

And  when  th'  oppression  ceas'd,  such  men  could  show 

A  god-like  greatness, — and  forgive  afoe; 

Such  men  could  call  religion  from  the  skies, 

To  guide  their  feet  before  a  nation's  eyes ; — • 

Where  such  men  trod,  the  flow'rs  of  Science  sprung,— 

With  hymns  to  Peace  the  humble  cottage  rung, — 

Contentment  spread  the  table  of  the  poor, 

And  Ceres  blush'd  and  wav'd  beside  his  door  : — 

All,  in  such  men,  repos'd  unshaken  trust ; 

The  rul'd  were  happy,  and  their  rulers  JUST. 

Say  then,  O  Time !  since  thy  pervading  eye 
Wak'd  from  the  slumber  of  eternity, 
Hadst  thou  e'er  seen  a  spot  so  highly  blest, 
In  bliss  and  beauty  so  superbly  drest? — 

When  erst,  beyond  the  bright  uEgean  isles,10 
From  the  green  billows,  rose  the  queen  of  smiles, 

10  The  classical  reader  will  trace  the  outline  of  this  scene,  in 
the  following  exquisite  passage  from  Akenside. 

" Or  as  Venus,  when  she  stood 

Effulgent  on  her  pearly  car,  and  smiPd, 

Fresh  from  the  deep,  and  conscious  of  her  form, 

To  see  the  Tritons  tune  their  vocal  shells, 

And  each  caerulean  sister  of  the  flood, 

With  loud  acclaim,  attend  her  o'er  the  waves, 

To  seek  uY  Idalian  bow'r." — 

Pleasures  of  Imagination, 


18  THE  PORTRAIT. 

Pure  as  her  parent  foam,  and  heav'nly  fair ; — 
When  her  dark  tresses  of  ambrosial  hair 
Flow'd  round  her  waist,  in  many  a  wanton  curl, 
Play'd  in  the  breeze,  and  swept  her  car  of  pearl, 
Whose  amber  wheels,  in  quick  rotation,  glide, 
Drawn  by  her  doves,  along  the  sparkling  tide  ; 
While  all  around  her,  choirs  of  Tritons  swell 
The  mellow  music  of  their  coral  shell, 
As  on  she  moves,  with  an  exulting  smile, 
To  rear  her  temple  on  the  Cyprian  isle, 
Or  rest,  voluptuous,  amid  springing  fiow'rs, 
On  rosy  couches,  under  myrtle  bow'rs  : — 
On  Ida's  top,  the  thund'rer  view'd  the  fair, 
The  clouds  that  veiPd  him,  melting  into  air ; — 
And  all  the  beauties  of  the  queen  of  love, 
In  spite  of  Juno,  fir'd  the  breast  of  Jove. 

So  shone  Columbia,  when  in  happier  days, 
O'er  eastern  mountains,  with  "  unbounded  blaze " 
She  saw  the  sun  of  Independence  rise, 
And  roll,  rejoicing,  through  unclouded  skies. — 
So  shone  Columbia,  when  her  infant  hand 
With  magic  pow'r,  along  her  verdant  strand, 
Charm 'd  into  life  the  city's  busy  throng, 
And  roll'd  of  wealth  the  swelling  tide  along, 


THE  PORTRAIT.  19 

While  Freedom's  pure  and  consecrated  fires 
Glow'd  in  her  halls,  and  glittered  on  her  spires. — 
So  shone  Columbia,  when  her  naval  pine 
Bow'd,  at  her  touch,  to  float  beneath  the  line, 
And  proudly  bear,  on  ev'ry  wave  unfurl'd, 
Her  swelling  canvass,  o?er  the  wat'ry  world. — 
So  shone  Columbia,  when  the  trembling  wave 
Heard  Preble's  thunder,  and  was  Somers'  grave  ; — 
So  shone,  when  e'er  she  trod  her  native  plain, — 
(For  she,  emerg'd,  like  Venus,  from  the  main) 
Till  doom'd  from  Neptune's  empire  to  retire, 
And  dew  with  tears,  the  ashes  of  her  sire. 

From  realms,  where,  waving  o'er  celestial  vales, 
Green  groves  of  amaranth  bend  to  spicy  gales  ; 
From  em'rald  rocks,  where  crystal  water  flows ; 
Where  sainted  spirits  of  the  just  repose  ; 
Where  patriots  bleed  not,  in  their  country's  wars, 
Nor  roam  in  beggary,  nor  show  their  scars 
To  their  ungrateful  country's  tearless  eye, — 
Nor  on  that  country's  frozen  bosom  die  : — 
But  where,  in  peace,  they  breathe  the  breath  of  balm, 
And  bind  their  temples^with  immortal  palm  ; 
Where  choral  symphonies  no  discord  mars, 
Nor  drowns  the  music  of  the  morning  stars, 


20  THE  PORTRAIT. 

Who,  crown'd  with  light,  around  the  Eternal's  throncr 
Pour  on  the  ravish'd  ear,  the  mingled  tone 
Of  voice,  and  golden  lyre,  that  fill  the  sky 
With  the  wild  notes  of  heav'nly  minstrelsy  : — 
There,  while  the  star-pav'd  walks  of  heav'n  he  trod, 
Cheer'd  by  th'  unclouded  vision  of  his  God, 
Great  WASHINGTON  beheld  the  fair;  and  smil'd, 
And  sard  to  wond'ring  seraphs,— That's  my  child  ! 

But  now,  how  changed  the  scene  I — ye  blissful  days, 
Withdraw  the  dazzling  splendour  of  your  blaze  !— 
And  Mem'ry  !  snatch  thy  record  from  my  sight, 
Whose  leaves,  emblazon'd  with  the  beams  of  light, 
Pour  on  the  eye  that  glances  o'er  thy  page, 
The  strong  effulgence  of  a  golden  age. 
Come,  Lethe,  come  1  thy  tide  oblivious  roll, 
O'er  all  that  proud  complacency  of  soul, 
That  gen'rous  ardour,  that  enliv'ning  flame, 
That  warm'd  my  bosom,  when  I  heard  the  name, 
Of  my  once  honour'd  country  : — let  thy  wave, 
Dark  as  Avernus,  gloomy  as  the  grave, 
Drown  ev'ry  vestige  of  that  country's  fame, 
And  shade  the  light  that  bursts  upon  her  shame  ! 
Say, — shall  we  paint  her  as  she  meets  the  eye  ? 
No  :-*-drop  the  pallet,— throw  the  pencil  by  :•— 


THE  PORTRAIT.  21 

Why  should  you  wish  that  shriv?led  form  to  trace, 

Or  stain  the  canvass  with  Columbia's  face ! 

No  fame  awaits  the  artist : — though  he  give 

Each  feature  life,  his  mem'ry  ne'er  shall  live  ; 

Ne'er  shall  he  stand,  in  Raphael's  honours  drest, 

Nor  snatch  the  laurels  from  the  brows  of  West. 

Time  was,  indeed,  when  he  who'd  paint  the  fair, 

Must  mix  the  blending  colours,  soft  as  air  ;~- 

To  hit  the  piercing  lustre  of  her  eye, 

Must  catch  the  light  and  azure  of  the  sky  : — 

To  fill  the  piece  with  corresponding  glow, 

Must  dip  his  pencil  in  the  eastern  bow ; 

Then,  o'er  her  locks  and  dimpled  cheeks  must  shed 

The  paly  orange,  and  the  lively  red  ; — 

Must  shade  the  mellow  back -ground  of  the  scene 

With  mingled  tints  of  violet  and  green  ; — 

Upon  her  lips*,  must  smiles  and  graces  play  ; — 

The  coral,  melting  in  the  dews  of  May, 

Must  just  disclose  the  ivory  beneath  ; — 

And  if  she  breath'd  not,  she  must  seem,  to  breathe. 

But  let  not  now  the  merest  novice  dread, 

(This  same  Columbia  sitting  for  her  head,) 

With  painting  frenzy  fir'd,  to  grasp  the  brush : — 

He'll  hit  her  to  the  life,  and  need  not  blush 


22  THE  PORTRAIT. 

To  have  his  work  inspected ; — if  he'll  mix 
The  kindred  streams  of  Acheron  and  Styx, 
Shut  close  his  windows,  that  no  ray  of  light 
Ma)7  give  a  single  feature  to  his  sight ; — 
Then,  on  the  ready  canvass  turn  his  back, 
And  daub  it  o'er  with  bitter  and  with  black. 

Breathes  there  a  wretch,  of  so  deprav'd  a  soul, 
A  tongue  so  vip'rous,  and  a  heart  so  foul, 
As  e'er  to  shed  the  venom  of  his  pen, 
E'en  in  his  closet,  on  the  best  of  men  ? — 
Or  on  the  laurels,  that  around  him  sprung, 
To  pour  the  snaky  poison  of  his  tongue, 
And  blast  their  beauty  ?  Can  a  fiend  so  vile, 
Be  found  in  nature,  as  to  sit  and  smile 
To  see  those  laurels  wither  ?  Yes ! — but  where  ? 
Breathes  he  pollution  on  Columbia's  air, 
Or  does  he  rather  with  corruption  dwell, 
And  hold  sad  converse,  at  the  gates  of  hell, 
With  spirits  who,  themselves  from  glory  driv'n, 
Grudge  man  his  earth,  and  envy  God  his  heav'n? 
There  lives,  my  friends,  on  earth,  a  wretch  so  base, 
So  blind  to  decency,  so  dead  to  grace, 

11  Two  rirers,  said  by  mythologists  to  flow  through  the  infer, 
nal  regions,  the  one  remarkable  for  the  bitter  taste,  and  the  other 
for  the  "  inky  hue"  of  its  waters. 


THE  PORTRAIT.  23 

In  hatred,  so  uncharitably  mean, 
In  language,  so  disgracefully  obscene, 
As,  with  a  hand  that  guilt  cannot  appal, 
And  with  a  pen,  dipt  in  a  scorpion's  gall, 
Boldly  to  brand  Britannia  as  a  "  whore,"12 
And  Washington  her  lech'rous  paramour !  !•—- 
Rest,  sainted  shade !  nor  let  reproach  like  this, 
Dash,  from  thy  lips,  the  flowing  cup  of  bliss : — - 
For  the  same  man  who  thus  assaiPd  thy  fame, 
With  equal  hatred  of  his  Saviour's  name, 
With  foot  indignant  on  the  manger  trod,13- 
Where  humbly  slept  the  infant  Son  of  God ! — 

Did  not  ten  thousand  swords  of  freemen  start, 
Bright  from  their  sheaths,  to  pierce  that  rancorous  heart? 
Did  not  each  breeze,  with  deeper  horror,  chill 
The  groves  that  darken  Monticello's  hill, 

12  "The  Executive,"  (Washington)  "  Judiciary,  and  a  large 
Majority  of  Congress"  (then  federal)  "are  under  the  influence 

of  the  zvhore  of  England." 

Jefferson's  Letter  to  Mazzei. 

13  Mr.  Jefferson,  passing  with  his  infidel  friend  Mazzei,  by  a 
Virginia  church,  in  not  the  best  repair,  (strange  as  this  fact  may 
appear),  the  following  is  the  amount  of  their  conversation. 

Maz.     What  building  is  that  ? 
Jeff.     A  church. 

Muz.     It  exhibits  rather  a  shabby  appearance. 
Jeff.     Yes ;  but  is  good  enough  for  the  worship  of  a  God  who 
was  born  in  a  manger  / 


24  THE  PORTRAIT. 

And,  with  dread  bodings,  murmur  round  the  dome 
Where  Slander  dwells,  and  Envy  finds  a  home  ? — 
Did  not  the  ghosts  of  slaughtered  patriots  rise, 
And  frowning,  swim  before  his  sleepless  eyes, 
Point  to  the  wounds  through  which  their  spirits  fled. 
And  pour  ten  thousand  curses  on  his  head  ? — 
Ten  thousand  eyes  on  him,  indeed,  were  turn'd, 
Ten  thousand  lips  to  speak  his  praises  bunrd ; 
Ten  thousand  visions  pour'd  their  golden  beams, 
In  gay  succession,  on  ten  thousand  dreams  ; 
Ten  thousand  breezes  wafted  to  his  ears, 
The  notes  of  praise,  "the  music  of  the  spheres," 
And  twice  ten  thousand  voices  rent  the  air, 
To  give  that  man — the  presidential  chair  ! — 

As  from  the  pit,  whose  covering  was  withdrawn, 
Before  the  eyes  of  the  disciple  John,14 
Burst  forth  a  baleful  smoke,  in  columns  dun, 
VeiFd  earth  in  darkness,  and  obscur'd  the  sun, 
So  from  a  pit  as  foul,  where  fiends,  as  fell 
As  fallen  angels,  make  on  earth  a  hell, 
Rises  a  mist  that  spreads  to  either  pole, 
Where  e'er  the  wind  blows,  and  the  billows  roll, 
Pregnant  with  latent  ill,  as  that  which  shed 
Its  humid  mantle,  round  the  Tempter's  head, 
14  Vide  Revel.  St.  John. 


THE  PORTRAIT.  25 

When  first,  in  Paradise,  his  tongue  began, 
By  flatting  woman's  pride,  to  ruin  man  :~ls 
A  deadly  mist,,  that  nameless  curses  shrouds, 
In  mystery's  impenetrable  clouds, — 
More  than  e'er  issued  from  Pandora's  box, 
And  blacker  than  Medusa's  snaky  locks. 

'Tis  this  that  shades  our  country  ; — this  that  spread 
Its  philosophic  darkness  round  thy  head, 
Thou  sage  of  Monticello ! — this  that  gave 
Thy  country's  honour  to  an  early  grave; — 
Canker'd  thy  heart ; — cloth'd  thee  in  robes  of  shame  ; 
Branded  with  well  earn'd  infamy  thy  name  ; — 
Blinded  thine  own,  and  thy  successor's  eye, 
To  all  the  charms  of  heav'n-born  Liberty  ;. — 
'Tis  this  controls  your  counsels  ; — this  that  pours 
A  horde  of  hungry  Harpies  on  our  shores, 
Fresh  from  the  schools  of  France ;  this  gives  them  place, 
In  field  and  cabinet ; — stamps  foul  disgrace, 
On  all  your  crooked  policy  ;•— this  stains 
All  that  it  touches,  on  Columbia's  plains  ;•— - 

15  Vide  Milton's  account  of  the  manner  in  which  the  wary 
fiend  made  his  entry  into  Eden,  in  spite  of  the  vigilance  of  Uriel. 
No  wonder  jacobinism  should  elude  the  utmost  efforts  of  human 
sagacity,  since  not  even  the  keenness  of  angelic  vision  could  de- 
tect, till  too  late,  the  movements  of  its  great  archetype. 


26  THE  PORTRAIT. 

Banishes  Virtue  to  Retirement's  cell, 
And  plunges  Truth  into  her  native  well. — ' 
?Tis  this  that  chains  Columbia  to  the  car 
Of  Europe's  despot  ;~ goads  her  on  to  war ;— - 
Blots,  from  her  flag,  the  brightest  of  its  stars, 
To  paint  the  cuirass  and  the  casque  of  Mars  ;— 
Plunders  her  coffers,  of  her  hard-eanvd  wealth ; — 
Drives  from  her  cheeks  the  rosy  glow  of  health, 
And  gives  the  fair,  with  all  her  virgin  charms, 
To  shriek  and  struggle,  in  a  tyrant's  arms.— 

To  name  this  mist  shall  mortal  tongue  presume  ? 
This  blight, — this  mildew,  this  infernal  fume  !— 
?Tis  Reason  now, — and  now  Philosophy, — 
?Tis  Nature  then, — and  then  Equality,- — 
Now,  in  a  Consul's  bosom  deigns  to  throb,-— 
Now,  thrones  a  despot, — and  now,  arms  a  mob, — - 
Is  now  democracy, — is  Freedom  now, — 
And  now  is  Liberty  :— (but  when,  or  how, 
?Twas  real  Liberty,  no  tongue  can  tell ! — ) 
Now,  an  archangel,  from  the  gates  of  hell, 
It  steers  through  Chaos ; — now,  a  seraph  bright, 
With  purple  pinions,  seeks  the  source  of  light ; — 
Now  sweeps,  a  mist,  along  the  trav'lers  road ; — 
Now  glides,  a  serpent ; — and  now  swells,  a  toad*. 


THE  PORTRAIT.  27 

Look  at  Columbia  ! — see  her  sickly  form, 
Expos'd,  unsheltered,  to  the  howling  storm, 
No  friendly  taper,  glimm'ring  on  her  sight, 
Her  thin  robes,  draggled  in  the  dews  of  night, 
Her  bosom,  shrinking  from  the  piercing  blasts, 
On  Earth's  cold  lap  her  fainting  limbs  she  casts  : — > 
And  as  she  sinks,  despairing  and  forlorn, 
The  clouds  her  curtains,  and  her  couch  the  thorn, 
This  Proteus  phantom,  envying  e'en  such  rest> 
Broods  like  an  incubus  upon  her  breast ; — 
Forbids  the  fluid  through  her  veins  to  dart, 
And  locks  up  ev'ry  function  of  her  heart. 15 
And  yet,  the  authors  of  their  country's  shame, 
(In  rank,  too  high ;  in  worth,  too  low  to  name) 
Viewing  her  dying  agonies  the  while, 
With  fiend-like  triumph  "  grin  a  ghastly  smile."— 
Look  at  our  Commerce  ! — driven  from  the  deep, 
Our  sails,  no  more,  its  curling  surface  sweep  ; — 
No  more  the  silks  of  India  swell  our  stores ; — 
No  more  Arabia's  gums  perfume  our  shores : 

16  "  The  virtue  of  the  people,  &c. routed  and  put  to  flight 

that  corruption,  which  sat,  like  an  incubus  on  the  heart  of  the 
metropolis,  chaining  the  current  of  its  blood,  and  locking  up 
e?ery  healthful  function  and  energy  of  life." 

Curran's  speech  on  the  election  o/Loi-d  Afayw* 


28  THE  PORTRAIT. 

But  Desolation  hovers  o'er  our  ships, 
With  raven  pinions ; — and  with  skinny  lips, 
And  cheeks  all  shrivePd,  Famine  stalks  our  streets, 
And  clings,  with  wither'd  hand,  to  all  she  meets. 

Look  at  our  army  ! — See  its  bristling  van, 
Led  on  to  conquest,  by  that  wond'rous  man, 
Who  dares  the  aid  of  powder  to  despise, 
And  "  looks  down  opposition"  with  his  eyes  !17 
See !  how  the  forests  shudder  as  he  comes  ! 
How  their  recesses  echo  to  his  drums ! 
See  him,  with  vict'ry  perching  on  his  crest, 
Leap  boldly  o'er  the  barriers  of  the  west, 
And  bid  his  eagles,  stooping  to  the  plain, 
Fix  their  strong  talons  in  the  Lion's  mane  ! — 
Then  see  him,  wheeling  with  resistless  sweep, 
Exchange  his  army — for  a  flock  of  sheep  !18 

Look  at  our  navy ! — does  it  proudly  ride, 
And  roll  its  thunders  o'er  the  subject  tide, 
As  once  it  rode  and  thunder'd  ?  Rogers,  say, 
When,  from  our  coasts,  thy  squadron  bore  away, 

17  "  I  have  a  force  which  will  look  <Jown  all  opposition." 

Hull's  emancipating  proclamation  to  the  oppressed  Canadians,  Juhj  12, 1812J 

18  Some  of  the  early  bulletins  of  the  north  western  army  give 
an  account  of  having  taken  prisoners  830  Merino  sheep. — An  im- 
portant acquisition  to  the  manufacturing  interest. 


THE  PORTRAIT.  29 

Stretched  o'er  th'  Atlantic,  and  its  flags  unfurl'd, 

To  catch  the  breezes  of  the  eastern  world, 

Sought  for  a  foe  on  Afric's  sultry  shores, 

And  plough'd  the  circling  waves,  that  wash  th'  Azores ; 

For  thee,  what  garlands  floated  on  the  main  ? 

What  did  thy  squadron  ? — it  came  back  again  !19 

How  gratefully,  amid  the  horrid  gloom, 
That  rests  incumbent  on  our  Honour's  tomb, 
Should  we  all  hail  one  solitary  ray, 
Were  it  indeed  the  harbinger  of  day ; — 
When  even  now,  amid  the  tenfold  night 
Of  dark  despair,  we  hail,  with  fond  delight, 
Nay,  with  triumphant  pride,  the  beam  that's  pour'd, 
Conqu'ror  of  Dacres  !  from  thy  flaming  sword ! 
Then,  would  the  patriot's  heart,  that  sinks  opprest, 
By  humbling  shame,  throb  proudly  in  his  bfeast; — 
Then,  would  he  say,  *  the  reign  of  night  is  o'er ! 
1  The  day  is  dawning  that  shall  close  no  more ! 

*  My  hopes  were  sunk  ;  but  brighter  prospects  rise, 
c  And  other  suns  shall  yet  adorn  our  skies. 

*  Thus  would  the  ear,  when  fever  fires  the  brain, 

*  Restless,  all  night,  with  sympathetic  pain, 

19  Look  at  the  Commodore's  own  account  of  this  "  scurvy" 
expedition,  in  his  letter  to  the  Secretary  of  the  Navy,  Septem- 
ber 1,  1812. 


30  THE  PORTRAIT. 

*  By  jarring  discord's  harshest  gratings  torn, 

'  Wake,  to  the  airy  melodies  of  morn.' — 20 

But  now,  what  is  it  ?  'Tis  the  lightning's  glare, 

That  flames  at  midnight  through  the  murky  air, 

And  shows  what  clouds  the  face  of  heav'n  deform, 

And  all  the  fearful  horrors  of  the  storm. 

Thus,  when  Apollo  to  his  son  resigned21 

His  car  and  coursers,  to  illume  mankind, 

His  car  and  coursers,  stooping  from  the  skies, 

Cleft  earth  with  heat,  and  open'd  to  the  eyes 

Of  the  pale  tenants  of  the  realms  below, 

The  boundless  chaos,  and  the  scenes  of  wo, 

That  reign'd  around  : — e'en  Pluto  and  his  bride, 

Who  sway'd  th'  infernal  sceptre,  side  by  side, 

Trembled  beneath  th?  intolerable  light ; — 

And  the  ghosts  shrunk  and  shudder  d  at  the  sight. 

Still,  gallant  Hull,  the  meed  of  praise  is  thine, 

Still  Victory's  wreaths  around  thy  brows  shall  twine, 

Still,  child  of  Washington,  thy  name  shall  live, 

While  valour  immortality  can  give  ! — 

20  "  But  who  the  melodies  of  morn  can  tell  ?"  Beattie. 

21  For  a  particular  statement  of  the  ruin  in  which  Phaeton  in- 
volved not  only  himself  but  the  world,  by  his  rash  experiment  at 
illuminating  mankind  ;  vide  Ovid's  Metamorphoses.    Lib*  1L 


THE  PORTRAIT.  31 

Hark  ! — as  it  shuts,  with  triple  bolted  bars, 
The  pond  ions  door  on  grating  hinges  jars ; — 
The  massy  key  springs  the  reluctant  locks ;  — 
Echo's  the  clang  from  adamantine  rocks  ; — 
There,  in  a  dungeon's  gloom,  mid  vapours  dank, 
Where  rattle  manacles,  and  fetters  clank, 
To  perfidy  and  treacrrry  self-resign?d, 
Children  of  Liberty,  were  ye  confin'd ! 
Children  of  Honour,  thither  basely  led ! 
Children  of  Washington, — 'twas  there  ye  bled ! — 
And  why  ? — what  nameless  deed  that  hates  the  sun, 
And  courts  congenial  darkness,  had  ye  done  ? 
Some  ruin'd  virgin  had  ye  left  to  sigh, 
And  die  in  guilt,  or  live  in  infamy  ? 
Covered  her  father's  rev'rend  cheeks  with  shame  ? 
Or  shot  her  brother  to  redeem  your  fame  ? — 
No ;  but  in  times  like  these,  when  Virtue  weeps, 
When  high-born  Honour  in  retirement  sleeps, — 
When  Vice  triumphant  fills  the  chair  of  state, — 
When  most  great  men,  are  infamously  great, — 
When  sots  and  demagogues  t?  election  come, 
Those  to  give  votes  and  these  to  pay  in  rum,— 
When  place  is  venal,  nay — by  auction  bought,—* 
Ye  dar'd  to  think,  w&  publish  as  ye  thought! 


32  THE  PORTRAIT. 

Hark  ! — 'tis  the  Daemon ! — at  the  door  he  treads  ! 
Alecto's  mantle  shrouds  his  hundred  heads  ;— 
Back  fly  the  bolts ; — his  bloody  eye-balls  glare  ; — 
Long,  dangling  snakes  hiss  in  his  horrent  hair ; — 
Blue  flames  of  sulphur  issue  from  his  jaws  ; — 
Each  giant  hand  a  naked  dagger  draws ; — 
The  steely  clashing  echos  from  the  walls, 
And  at  his  feet  the  hoary  LING  AN  falls  ! 
The  monster  speaks  :-"  There,  traitor,  take  thy  rest ! — 
"  Hah  ! — are  those  scars,  that  seam  thy  aged  breast  ? 
"  And  didst  thou  think  '  those  poor  dumb  wounds 

would  plead, 

"  Like  angels,  trumpet  tongu'd/22  against  my  deed? 
"  Simple  old  fool ! — I  glory  in  my  work  ; — 
"  Here, — see  thy  blood  that  trickles  from  my  dirk  ! — 
"  Die  not,  till  thou  hast  seen  what  joy  I  feel, 
"  To  kiss  that  trophy  of  my  faithful  steel ; — 
"  That  trophy  must  command  a  gen'rous  price, 
"  Where  I  shall  show  it : — great  men  are  not  nice, 

22  "  Shew  you  sweet  Cesar's  wounds, poor, poor  dumb  mouths ! 
"And  bid  them  speak  for  me."  Julius  Ccesar. 

"          *         *         *         *          his  virtues 
u  Will  plead  like  angels  trumpet.tongu'd,  against 
"  The  deep  damnation  of  his  taking  off;"  Macbeth. 


THE  PORTRAIT.  33 

"  Who  have  employ'd  me  in  these  high  affairs  ; 
"  I'll  have  my  pay, — as  doubtless  they  have  theirs^ 
"  From  those  who  still  a  prouder  state  enjoy — 
"  Who  brib'd  Speranski™ — and  who  bought  Godoy.'u 
"  Ah !  not  yet  dead ! — give  me  thy  hoary  locks, 
"  And  let  thy  brains  besmear  these  gory  rocks  ; — 
"  Thus  do  I  dash  thee, — tory  as  thou  art, — 
"  Thus  drink  thy  blood, — thus  craunch  thy  quiv'ring 
heart!" 

Soul  of  the  brave,  look  backward  in  thy  flight ; 
Our  eyes  pursue  thee  till  thou'rt  lost  in  light ; 
There  rest  in  peace,  thy  earthly  pains  forgot ; — 
Soul  of  the  brave,  how  happy  is  thy  lot ! 

Johnson,  Montgom'ry,  Strieker  !* — when  grim  death 
Shall  stop  the  volumes  of  mephitic  breath, 

23  "  Speranski,"  raised  by  the  Emperor  Alexander  from  hum. 
ble  life  to  the  highest  civil  office  in  the  Russian  empire,— lately 
banished  to  Siberia,  for  communicating  to  Buonaparte  the  whole 
plan  of  the  Emperor's  operations  in  the  present  war. 

24  "  Godoy,"  the  infamous  Prince  of  Peace,  who,  while  he 
enjoyed  all  the  wealth  and  honour  his  king  could  lavish  upon 
him,  as  well  as  all  the  more  flattering  favours  his  queen  could 
bestow,  held  a  treasonable  correspondence  with  the  Tyrant  of 
France,  the  object  of  which  was  the  destruction  of  the  Spanish 

monarchy -Thus  we  see,  that  from  Madrid  to  St.  Petersburgh, 

neither  wealth,  nor  power,  nor  love  can  resist  the  omnipotence  of 
French  intrigue. — Are  its  operations  confined  to  the  Eastern 
Continent  ? 


!  i  THE  PORTRAIT. 

That  spread  contagion  round  you  ;  when  your  ear 

The  curse  of  freemen  can  no  longer  hear; 

Your  menvry  like  your  carcasses  shall  rot,  - 

On  earth  detested, — in  the  grave  forgot. 

While  Lingan,  Hanson,  Thompson,  Biglow  fire 

The  poet's  raptures,  and  the  minstrePs  lyre, 

Rise,  their  deluded  countrymen  to  bless, 

And,  from  the  ruins  of  the  falling  PRESS, 

•Diffuse  such  lustre,  as  dispels  the  gloom, 

From  Sidney's  scaffold,  and  from  Hampden's  tomb. 

Biglow,  I  know  thee  well,  I  know  thy  worth, 

And  if  a  gen  You  s  spirit  lives  on  earth, 

That  spirit  warms  thy  bosom ! — with  what  pride, 

Thy  sword  was  drawn,  that  night,  by  Lingan's  side, 

And  with  what  lively  transport  wilt  thou  greet 

Thy  old  companion,  when  again  you  meet ! 

When  on  the  ruins  of  Palmyra's  walls, 
Through  fleecy  clouds,  the  sober  moonlight  falls, 
Trembling  among  the  ivy  leaves,  that  shade 
The  crumbling  arch,  and  broken  colonnade, 
As  some  lone  bard,  that  gives  his  silver  hair, 
To  float,  dishevelPd,  on  the  sighing  air, 
While  glories,  long  departed,  rush  along, 
Pours  on  the  ear  of  night,  in  mournful  song, 


- 


THE  PORTRAIT.  35 

The  fond  remembrance  of  that  splendid  day, 
When  round  Longinus'  temples  tvvin'd  the  bay, 
When  on  those  tow'rs,  the  beams  of  science  shone, 
And  princes  kneel'd  around  Zenobia's  throne  ; — 
Some  future  minstrel  thus  his  lyre  shall  sweep, 
Where  glides  Potomac  to  the  azure  deep.- — 

"  Where  now  these  ruins  moulder  on  the  ground, 
Where  Desolation  walks  her  silent  round, 
The  slipp'ry  serpent  drags  his  sinuous  trail, 
To  marble  columns  clings  the  slimy  snail, 
The  solemn  raven  croaks,  the  cricket  sings, 
And  bats  and  owlets  flap  their  sooty  wings  ; — 
Once,  a  proud  temple  rose,  with  front  sublime, 
By  Wisdom  rear'd,  to  brave  the  shocks  of  Time, 
And  consecrated  to  the  smiling  Three, 
RELIGION,  PEACE,  and  CIVIL  LIBERTY. 
Its  earliest  priests,  in  stainless  robes  array 'd, 
By  no  threats  daunted,  by  no  arts  betray 'd, 
Ne'er  let  the  censer  nor  the  olive  drop, 
Though  clouds  and  tempests  brooded  o'er  its  top. 
Time  brought  their  pious  labours  to  a  close : — 
Others  succeeded, — and  new  scenes  arose  : — 
The  hov'ring  tempests  fell  upon  its  walls, 
The  brooding  clouds  were  welcom'd  to  its  halls, 


36  THE  PORTRAIT. 

The  shuddering  altars  felt  the  fires  of  hell, 

The  olive  wither'd,  and  the  censer  fell, 

The  columns  broke,  the  trembling  arches  frown'd. 

The  Temple  sunk,  and  ruin  stalks  around. 


E. 

p^ 


X 


M179659 


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